Muñeca
by catchme21
Summary: A family's sins follow in death, and a horrifying murder throws the Winchesters into the middle of a hunt where the spirits are restless, the victims are dying, and the vengeance is brewing. Now all they have to do is just make it out alive.
1. Sangre

**Disclaimer: **Nothing you recognize is mine, which is a damn shame.  
**Warnings: **Nothing too serious. I've rated it T for language, but that's about as bad as it's going to get. There aren't any major spoilers for anything, and I will warn you if one suddenly pops up. My muse is whimsical like that.  
**Author's Note: **I am working on this story, I truly am. I really can't promise frequent updates, but I'm almost done mapping this out and finishing off the end, so they shouldn't be too far apart. Thanks to all of my ladies for encouraging me to pick the pen back up. -grin-

Thank you to Jules for my awesome beta job. I just can't keep well enough alone sometimes, so any mistakes left over are mine.

I hope you all enjoy!

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_**Chapter 1 - Sangre**_

"What are we even doing here?" Mandy asked, trying to keep her voice steady as she wrapped her arms around herself.

"Come on baby, don't you want to see if they exist?"

"Don't 'baby' me. We all know they don't exist. You know those stories aren't even real," she scoffed. "Just a bunch of stupid kids sitting around making up a bunch of stupid stories about a bunch of stupid ghosts."

Jesse wrapped a broad arm around his girlfriend's shoulders, laughing as he felt another chill ripple through her small frame. "They aren't real, huh? Well, then, why are you scared?"

"I'm not scared, I'm cold. It's like thirty degrees out here."

"Sure thing, sweetheart. Add about twenty more degrees onto your estimate, and the fact that you're wearing three layers; it's not _that_ cold." Jesse cocked an eyebrow, laughing when Mandy simply answered with a roll of her vivid green eyes.

"Shut up, jerk, it's not funny. We're going to miss the kick off to our own party." With an exasperated sigh, she flipped a lock of her bright auburn hair over her shoulder. Two of her best friends were throwing a birthday bash for the two of them, something they had done for the past three years. It was one of the many things she shared with the love of her life; their birthdays were only a week apart.

This year's present was a ski trip, and their own private log cabin, paid for by the couple's parents, a celebration fit for any new adult. She was after all eighteen now, old enough to be staying a weekend on her own, old enough to look forward to college in a few months.

"No, we won't. This won't take long." Jesse ignored his own long blonde hair, leaving it to hang over his deep blue eyes. Unconsciously he burrowed deeper into his own letterman's jacket, hating to admit it but his girlfriend was right. During the course of their discussion, the temperature had dropped dramatically and the wind had picked up considerably. They had both left their heavier ski jackets in the car, not wanting to break them out just yet, settling for being clad in their lighter layers.

They wound their way around the small path, the heavy thicket on either side grabbing at their clothing. With another frustrated sigh, Mandy jerked her arm free, wincing as she heard the material tear.

"Damnit Jesse, let's just go."

They had been about twenty minutes into their hour-long drive when Jesse had suddenly pulled off to the side of the road. There was an old abandoned cabin about half a mile into the woods, and he had always wanted to check it out. _Come on, it'll be fun_, he had argued when Mandy had protested. The fact that it was dark out did little to dissuade the swim team captain, but for safety he had tucked his newest toy into the back of his jeans – a small snug .45, a very "adult" present from his father.

He actually hoped that something would try to attack them; he was itching to pull the pistol out and test his marksmanship. He'd be Mandy's hero for the rest of their lives. Jesse's chest swelled with excitement at the thought of taking some big bad bear down, and he could hear the tales being told at graduation. That is, after they dedicate it to me, he mused silently. Hell, maybe he'd even end up on CNN.

His chest quickly deflated as they rounded their last corner, and the house came into sight. Stories and the imagination did not do this place justice. It sat about two stories high, and beckoned visitors with its large, rotted wrap-around porch. Nothing was left of the windows but large gaping holes, and a huge chunk of the roof was missing, creating an illusion that even the house was screaming. Two cars sat rusting in the elements, their body styles dating them back to the early fifties. The driver's side door was open in the farthest car, almost as if someone had forgotten to close it.

"This place must have been so beautiful at one point," Mandy breathed, her statement breaking the reverie Jesse had found himself in. Her next statement had his chest swelling once more. "I don't like this. Jesse, please, let's just go back to the car."

"Oh, come on, honey, just a quick look around. Then we'll go, I promise. Until then, I'll protect you." He pulled her close, and they both fell into step as they neared the decrepit house. Deciding he would cut their adventure shorter than originally planned, Jesse cast a quick, concerned glance at his girlfriend. It bothered him that she didn't have a snappy comeback. He decided not to rib her about how scared she was until they were safely on the road once more.

Or, judging by the look on her face, he might not tease her at all. The way things were going, it would take a miracle for him to even get some action this weekend. He would be lucky if she didn't spend the rest of the weekend making him look like the ass he was beginning to feel like.

They reached the bottom of the porch, and Jesse reached for Mandy's hand.

"Do we really have to go in there?" she asked, her voice low.

"In and out. Promise."

Mandy squeezed his fingers in response as her breath quickened. She didn't care if he made fun of her later, or called her out on her earlier skepticism: she was scared out of her ever-loving mind.

They picked their way up the stairs, avoiding the large gaping holes and missing planks. The wood creaked beneath their combined weight, announcing their presence to whoever might be listening. The thought momentarily stopped Jesse, and damn if he wasn't creeping himself out. Missing his slight pause, Mandy pushed forward, her own curiosity driving her across the ancient porch.

"Do you hear that?" she whispered as they neared the door.

"I don't hear anything."

"Exactly. It is dead silent here; you can't even hear the wind." They both strained, listening for even the smallest hint of life besides themselves. A large curtain billowed out from a nearby window, the yellowed lace fluttering violently before settling back in a twisted lump, the action startling the young couple. Their eyes met and they laughed nervously, gripping each other's hand tighter.

"Wait a second. Jesse, if there's no wind, how did that just happen?"

"Maybe the house is just blocking the wind from us, but there's an open window on the other side." It seemed logical enough.

Mandy studied the dead tree near the corner of the house; its gnarled branches were disturbingly still. "Can we just go already?" Her own curiosity was wiped out now, replaced by a sudden feeling of alarm. The feeling of being watched was too strong to ignore.

"We're here; we might as well go inside at least. We'll just take a quick peek, and then we'll go, I promise."

They nudged the front door open, and stepped into the foyer. A large chandelier was the first thing to catch their eyes, long clear crystals hung from delicate golden chains. The faded red carpet that ran from wall to wall sponged beneath their feet, and each step disturbed a molded dust.

Mandy glanced from the carpet to the faded green walls, then back up to the chandelier. "Jesse…do you notice anything weird?"

"Yeah," Jesse nodded. "Why is the chandelier so clean while the rest of the house is falling apart?"

"My mommy likes it to be pretty. Everything has to be pretty for Mommy."

Mandy let out a shriek as the small child's voice echoed around them. She stumbled, twisting in Jesse's arms as he struggled to keep her from falling.

"What the hell was that?" Jesse stammered.

"Let's leave now, please Jesse, let's go, please," Mandy begged.

"Okay, okay, we'll go." They turned towards the door, stopped short by the small figure standing between them and freedom. Her long black hair hung in clumps down the front of her tattered dress, dull in comparison to dark eyes that glittered above hollowed cheeks.

The couple was struck speechless as the child continued. "Daddy will be mad that we're awake, but we must find the doll. The doll is what keeps Mommy happy." As she spoke her already ashen skin began to darken, and a large chunk of her scalp slid to the floor with a wet smack.

Mandy screamed again, pushed off of Jesse and ran for the door. Jesse was close behind, grunting with pain as he tripped over a rise in the carpet and landed hard on his knees. He scrambled to his feet, and rushed outside.

Jesse had made it to the tree line before he realized he could no longer see Mandy. In fact, he hadn't even seen her running across the clearing, and he had only been a few feet behind her.

"Mandy!" he screamed, but his desperate call was swallowed by the dark tree line, disappearing unanswered.

A long, drawn-out scream came from the house. "Mandy!" he cried again, rushing back towards the house. He burst through the front door, completely unprepared for the weight that slammed into him and sent him to the ground.

Mandy straddled his hips, a large knife gleaming in her hands as she raised it above her head. "You selfish bastard!" she screamed. "You think you can just get away with this? I did everything you ever asked of me, and look what happened!! You won't kill me again!!"

Jesse fought to recover from the unexpected attack, struggling to draw in a breath after it had been ripped from his lungs. He raised his arms to defend himself, and the knife plunged deeply into his palm. He let out a scream of pain as she stabbed again, this time cleanly slicing through his ring finger, leaving it hanging by a chunk of skin.

Angrily she swiped his hand aside, and thrust the knife into his chest. His second scream caught in his throat, the vocalized air unable to reach his gaping mouth before the flow of blood.

Bright red blood bubbled from his lips, mixing with the dark crimson the spewed from his chest with each arc of the knife. She continued to force the knife into his chest, stomach, and shoulders, not caring that he had stopped breathing after the fifth strike, that his heart had stopped after the seventh.

The son of a bitch needed to die.

.:.SN.:.

"I already talked to my lawyer." Mandy crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to tell the story _again, _even if the young man across from her was gently urging her on with soft smiles and caring words. She had already told the stone-faced old crow posing as her legal council about a dozen times, and he wasn't making any real progress. He was a vulture with a news crew in his face, and he was using her as a stepping stone to a greater career she was sure.

"I know, and I apologize. But as Mr. Eppy's aid, I've been sent down here to do a follow up and to catch any information he might have missed. Plus, it's all part of being the guy's lackey."

Mandy leaned forward in her chair, placing her arms on the table. The ice-cold handcuffs dug into her wrists, reminding her why she was there. The man seemed friendly enough; his eyes were genuine and full of concern. It helped that he only appeared just few years older than her, maybe twenty-three or twenty-four, unlike her dinosaur of a lawyer.

She really didn't want to relive this nightmare, but her parents had warned her against withholding any information from her legal counsel. In fact, her lawyer was the only one she was allowed to talk to about exactly what had happened that night.

The media, the town, and Jesse's family, were crying for the death sentence. Mandy's eyes filled with tears as she thought about how warm and friendly her town had once been, how loved she had once felt. Now they were just one big bloodthirsty mob looking to string her up. Even her so-called friends were hanging supportive death sentence posters around town.

Taking a deep breath, she recounted all she could remember. She had decided to leave out the little girl, remembering how her lawyer had told her they were already past the insanity plea.

"And what made you run?" the man softly interrupted.

"What?"

"Well, you both were alright with being in that house up until the point where you said you were freaked. What scared you?"

Mandy rolled her eyes. "You'll just think I'm insane."

"Try me."

Catching his eyes and reading the steady look in their depths, Mandy wasn't sure why, but she figured he might just believe her. Plus she decided she couldn't deny this man anything, there was something about him that reached out and safely drew her in.

"There was a little girl. She had long black hair, and we could just tell she was dead, ya know? Like some freaky ghost or something. Well, when she just appeared behind us, I freaked out and ran as fast as I could. I thought Jesse was right behind me, so I started running across the field. I got about halfway across, and I sort of blacked out. When I came to, I was…oh God…" Mandy began to gag, but waived off the offered garbage can from the lawyer's aid.

"That's been happening a lot lately."

The man nodded in sympathy, and placed the small can back on the floor. His compassionate hazel eyes returned to hers, and she couldn't break the contact, sinking into that splash of color in the otherwise devoid room.

"Anyway, I was sitting over my boyfriend, and his blood was everywhere. He was dead, oh God he was dead. I don't remember what happened, but I swear to God I didn't kill him. Please, you have to believe me. I loved Jesse with everything I had." She began to cry when she realized she was rambling, her chest heaving with pain. The aid sat quietly, waiting until she could pull herself together. Maybe she wasn't as numb as she thought she was.

"I'm sorry," Mandy said through a humorless smile, wiping a hand across her eyes. "The story isn't getting any easier to tell."

"I don't think it ever will. Is there anything else you remember? Anything at all?"

Mandy thought for a moment, blinking in surprise when a memory resurfaced. Why hadn't she remembered it before now?

"Yeah, the little girl. She was talking about everything being pretty for Mommy, and Daddy being mad but she needed to find a doll."

The aide's face scrunched in confusion, but he seemed to make a mental note of it. "Thank you Mandy, we'll be in touch with you again soon. Hang in there, okay? We're going to figure this out."

Hopelessness flooded her once more. The guy didn't believe her; he wasn't going to be able to help her. "Thank you so much Sam. I hope you and Mr. Eppy have everything you need now."

"She's pretty much screwed," Sam said as he dropped into the passenger seat of the Impala, his fingers already reaching to loosen the constricting tie and the buttoned collar.

"Yeah, you can't really provide a good defense when you're covered in the victim's blood and a knife is found with your finger prints all over it. She say anything about the ghost?"

"Not the ghost I thought she was going to talk about. She said there was a little girl. The Emerson's daughter, maybe?"

"Could be," Dean said, pulling out of the lot and heading for their motel. "But she didn't see Daddy dearest at all?"

"She didn't mention it."

"Well, that's a first."

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More to come soon. Anyone else seen the previews for the next episode?? O...M...G...!!

Kris


	2. Mentiras

**Disclaimer: **Nothing you recognize is mine, which is a damn shame.  
**Warnings: **Nothing too serious. I've rated it T for language, but that's about as bad as it's going to get. There aren't any major spoilers for anything, and I will warn you if one suddenly pops up. My muse is whimsical like that.  
**Author's Note: **I've caught up now with myself, and ch3 is waiting with my beta now. Thanks to everyone who has favorited and suscribed, glad to know there's some interest. Thanks also to the wonderful Alisa, as always for leaving such colorful comments sure to put a smile on my face and a blush in my cheeks. Love you hun!

Thank you again to the amazingly awesome Jules, the coolest fan and sweetest critic I could ask for. Any mistakes left over are my own, I just can't be satisfied...

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_**Chapter 2 - Mentiras**_

Dean sat hunched over the laptop, flipping between the different websites. A small black and white photo of a large family sat on the table next to him, their names scrawled in neat handwriting across the bottom. The only little girl in the picture matched Mandy's description, and stood huddled next to the mother, her bright eyes turned shyly towards the camera.

"Ann Marie Emerson?" Sam read aloud, picking up the picture.

"The only girl in a family of seven boys. How much would that suck?"

"Couldn't imagine. It's tough enough having one brother."

"Hey," Dean protested. "I'm a Godsend of a brother."

"Sure you are," Sam mocked.

"So, this is the first appearance of the little girl?" Dean changed topics, not willing to get into it at the moment.

"Yeah, and it's the first time anyone has been killed. Mostly Dad just shows up and scares the crap out of people, but they're all lucky enough to escape with minor injuries. Ann Marie shows up, and someone dies."

"Do you think the little girl possessed Mandy? Is that why she would have killed Jesse?" Dean guessed.

"Sounded creepy enough. And it wouldn't be our first psychotic, murdering little girl. I guess we'll have to keep digging into the family. We'll have to see if we can get a list of their employees, and then track down their family members."

Dean shuddered, cold lifeless eyes and a barber's razor coming back to mind as he thought of their last massacring little girl. "I swear it's never simple and easy. Just once, just once I would like to get in, get out, and move on, no shovels or paperwork required."

Gnarled hands steadily refilled delicate, flowered coffee cups before the small hunched figure straightened. Silver hair was curled neatly around a deeply-lined face, but sharp honey-brown eyes slid up and down the boys, taking in every detail.

Dean instantly took a liking to this older woman, whose bright red nails were a shade lighter than her red lips and just a bit darker than her blouse. The sly smile spreading slowly across her face as she settled into a reclining chair confirmed she still had an eagerness for life and wasn't letting her age slow her down.

"Yeah, I know of the Emerson family. My grandmother used to tend to their gardens, which I'm guessing that's how you got my number."

Dean nodded, taking a sip of the rich brown coffee. He savored the taste of the homemade brew, not caring how dainty the cup looked in his hand. "What can you tell us about them?" He leaned forward and snagged one of the cookies Rose had set out for them when they first arrived, swallowing it whole in two bites.

"There's really not much to tell. They were pretty quiet, real churchgoers if ya know what I mean. Not to say that made them righteous by any means. They had their problems, but they seemed pretty normal."

"Did your grandmother ever tell you about Evelyn Emerson?" Sam asked, leaning forward to also grab a cookie. The oatmeal raisin smell still lingered in the small, lace-covered house, and suggested these were freshly baked, too good a chance to pass up.

"Gram actually became pretty good friends with the missus. She would come out and weed the gardens, insisting that while they paid my gram to do it, she didn't mind helpin' out one bit. So they'd sit and chat while they went about their work, the normal carefree gossip that happens whenever you get two females together. However, Mr. Emerson caught wind of it and put a halt to it, but every once in a while the missus would sneak outside and help. 'Twas a real shame what happened to her, she was a real nice lady, showed me how to bead and knit."

The brothers shared a look before Sam asked, "What do you mean? What happened to her?"

"Well Mr. Emerson had his wife committed, of course. She stopped comin' outside, and after a while no one saw hair or hide of her. That is, till one day she runs screamin' into the center of town, right by the big statue of that feller and his horse, screamin' about this doll. She was sayin' something about how this doll had captured her soul and whatnot, and she needed it back. She spent a few days in Jackson Hill, I believe the place is called, as ordered by the judge. Then, about a week after she came back from her little vacation, the butler was found dead with her standing above him. She claims she didn't remember what happened, and was declared legally insane."

Sam chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip as he noted the similarities to Mandy's story.

"After that it was rumored that Mr. Emerson had her put away, locked her up tighter than a virgin at a brothel."

Dean chuckled, emitting a quiet 'right on'. Sam sent a glare his way, then turned back to Rose. "Go on."

"Well, she spent about three years back in Jackson Hill. Mr. Emerson never did go up to visit, but every once in a blue moon he'd let them kids go see her. She had seven boys and one girl, though Mr. Emerson was caught on more than one occasion sayin' that poor daughter of his was as crazy as her mama."

"The girl died young, didn't she?" Sam pried. The girl in the photograph hadn't been that much younger than the ghost Mandy had described running into.

"Now patience, I'm gettin' to that part," Rose huffed at his interruption. "After three years, apparently the lovely Evelyn decided she couldn't do it anymore. She had been hiding her pills over a period of weeks, buildin' a collection. She swallowed them all one night, and just went to sleep."

"Well, I guess that's the way to go if you have to," Dean trailed off, earning another glare from Sam.

"You would think, right?" Rose agreed. Sam just rolled his eyes, and gestured for Rose to continue. "Well, poor little Ann Marie and her mama were real close before it all went to hell. She used to come out and play on the swing set while my gram would work. Some say it was an accident, what happened to her, but we all know the truth. That poor little girl couldn't live with out her mama, so she followed her into the light. She took the less gentle way though," she winked at Dean before continuing. "She jumped off the roof of that nice house they had up there. Split her skull wide open, she did. Some say when the sun is in the right position, you can still see the blood stains on the tiles."

The boys grimaced at the woman's description and the added hand gestures.

"You boys sure someone wants to fix that place up and sell it?"

"Yes ma'am, why not?"

"They say it's haunted. Boy, just a couple of weeks ago, some local girl goes nuts and kills her man. Funny thing is, it's the same way their butler died." Rose leaned in close, as if about to share some great secret in a crowded room. "I say the spirit of Evelyn took over that poor teen."

"Surely you don't believe in ghosts," Sam insisted, a disbelieving grin on his face.

"You'd be stupid not to," the elderly woman insisted.

With a smirk on his face, Dean echoed, "Yeah Sammy, you'd be stupid not to."

They sat in the car following the strange interview, lost in their own private thoughts. Finally Dean shook himself and jammed the key into the ignition. "So, the mom goes nuts, kills herself. Then the daughter follows. That explains the daughter's ghost, but Dad's?"

"Guilt maybe? He did let his wife rot in the asylum, and because of that his ten-year-old daughter offs herself. Ghosts have stuck around for a lot less ya know," Sam figured. "And what was up with the doll? A soul-stealing doll?"

"Not sure man, it was a crazy woman we're talkin' about. I say we find the girl's bones and torch 'em. Dad will be next, then if we have to we can find Mom before she has a chance to show up. They're bound to be buried somewhat close to each other."

"I'm not sure it'll be that simple," Sam said, reaching behind him for his bag.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, shooting quick looks at his brother.

Finally finding what he was looking for, he brought the notebook forward and flipped through it. "Well, Mandy said Ann Marie was looking for a doll. Maybe there's a doll somewhere, and that's what the ghosts are after."

"Alright Ghost Whisperer, you're not gonna let them pass over in a blaze of salt and glory, are you? Have to do everything the peaceful way."

Sam ignored the jab. "All I'm sayin' is there could be a lot more to this than a couple of grave desecrations, and we have to make sure we cover our tracks. Couldn't hurt to look into it is all."

Dean sighed, bowing to the inevitable. "Alright, fine Sammy. We'll do some recon work."

**_.:.SN.:._**

"Can I help you gentlemen?"

"Well hello nurse," Dean replied suggestively said before he could stop himself.

Sam cleared his throat and addressed the blushing girl, flashing his ID. "I'm Dr. O'Connors, and this is my associate Dr. Spielding. We're from Crestview and we have an appointment with Dr. Eastern."

"Oh, I'm sorry," the girl smiled sadly at Sam, though her eyes still on Dean. "Dr. Eastern is out of the office until the end of the month, family emergency. If you'd like to reschedule-"

"We would love to reschedule," Dean cooed, and leaned forward to read her nametag while slowly tracing his finger over the counter. "Unfortunately, Nurse Parks, we're working on a very big case, and the family has threatened to remove the patient from our care if we cannot discover a way to help her soon. Now this is not a patient that needs to be released just yet, and we were under the impression that Dr. Eastern had some files from his mentor of a similar case in 1962. If we could just take a look at those files, we'll be on our way."

The busty nurse had giggled as her name had rolled off of Dean's tongue, but her expression slowly darkened as he explained their dilemma. "I'm sorry; I can't give out those files without the written consent of the doctor."

Dean pouted a bit, giving just the right amount of lip to seem genuine, and the nurse seemed to crumble a bit at this. The hunter thought he had it in the bag, but surprisingly the nurse gave herself a mental shake and stood strong. "I'm sorry, I simply can't. If you would like, I can pull up Dr. Eastern's book right now to reschedule you."

"Look, Nurse Parks," Dean began, lowering his voice with a gentle tone.

"Please, call me Lacey," she returned, the wistful look reappearing the moment Dean had started talking.

"Well, sweetheart, surely you can understand where we're coming from. It is a very time sensitive case, and I'm afraid by the time Dr. Eastern comes back from his leave, it would be too late. Now, we have been more than patient considering no one called us to inform us we'd been cancelled, and we've traveled for about three days to get here."

"You think he's a peach in the car for that long?" Sam asked, nodding towards his sibling.

"Look, I really don't want to trouble you," Dean said without a pause; he could address Sam later. "But we're in a bit of a tight spot ourselves. Three days we could have been researching and running tests, figuring something else out, but instead we traveled up here in hopes of finding a cure for a very disturbed, but much loved young woman. Her family is desperate - please Lacey."

Lacey's eyes widened, and she nodded. Sam was pretty sure if Dean pressed the victim thing any farther the girl would be in tears.

"Do you have a phone number we can call him at?" Dean said, offering an out. He just hoped the girl didn't take it.

"Well," she said slowly, her resolve crumbling, "if Dr. Eastern had an appointment with you guys, I guess he meant to give you the files. He left strict instructions not to call him unless someone was dying, and I guess this wouldn't qualify. As you guys understand I can get into a lot of trouble by doing this, so I would appreciate your discretion as well."

Lacey nodded towards another one of the nurses. "I'm taking my break, I'll be right back."

The man eyed the two boys, and a huge grin lit up his face. "I'll just bet you are honey," he returned.

Nurse Lacey led them down a long, narrow hallway to an elevator, and while they waited for the doors to open Dean could feel the girl's stare boring holes into his backside. Normally, he would be all over her to leave Sam to the research, but her looks were making his skin crawl. There was something about her that screamed 'predator', and even in this case he didn't like being the prey. The occasional smacking noise she was making as she licked her lips certainly didn't help matters either.

They crowded into the smaller than usual staff elevator, and Dean made sure to place Sam between himself and the nurse. She looked slightly disappointed as she pressed the button for the bottom floor, and Sam looked slightly more than amused.

The doors opened to reveal a similar hallway to the one they'd just left, but thanks to Nurse Helpful they found out they were actually under the ground floor. "This is where we keep all of our really old files, the dusty stuff that would kill with an inhale." She laughed aloud at her own joke, receiving an unseen roll of the eyes from Dean and a quiet chuckle from Sam.

Taking a large loaded key ring out of her pocket, she unlocked the third door they came to. "Now," she informed the boys as she turned on the lights, "I can't let you guys stay down here for too long, so if you'd like to take a copy back with you, there's a copier across the hallway. Unofficially, as in 'the copy doesn't exist', of course."

"Of course," Sam repeated. No one had to know they were taking a copy, no one at all.

"So Crestview, huh?" Lacey said, sliding close to Dean. "I tried getting a job there once, but the standards were too high. They said I didn't have enough," her gaze slid up and down Dean's torso, "experience."

"Oh that's a shame," Dean laughed nervously, trying to back away. His retreat had no affect on the nurse, and she simply followed his movements.

Sam stifled a laugh from the corner. He'd already found the file surprisingly and was prying it apart for the copier, but couldn't help stopping for a moment to enjoy the show.

"It was real nice up there though; the apple trees sure were pretty."

Dean was about to nod when Sam spoke up. "Not sure the last time you were there, but we don't have apple trees."

Lacey nodded, her eyes glittering at her attempt for deceitful brilliance. "I know. Had to make sure you guys were cool."

"After you've seen our IDs and are letting us make a copy of an unofficial 'it never happened' file?"

The nurse shrugged. "Or trying to make small talk, one of the two. Whichever."

"Dr. O'Connors, you want to hurry up in there?" Dean said as the nurse moved forward again.

**_.:.SN.:._**

"What was up with the apple trees?" Dean asked, still finding that part of the whole conversation weird. The rest of the time was more disturbing than anything.

"I'unno, saw a picture of the place and all I saw was pine trees," Sam shrugged as he leafed through part of the copied file. Dean was sprawled out across his own bed, the other half of the file spread out around him. The small chuckle escaping Sam's lips had Dean glancing up in annoyance.

"Dude, shut up."

"Can't help it man. For once I think Nurse Creepy was more into you than the other way around. Didn't miss her sneaking her hand near the front of your pants either."

"I honestly think if you hadn't been there, she would have tried to rape me."

Sam was dramatically thoughtful for a moment, "Can you really rape the willing?"

Dean shrugged. "You got a point there. She was seriously creepy though, I don't think I could have gone for that sort of freakiness, she looked like she was into bondage. But the next time a nurse tries to take me downstairs to let me 'make copies'…"

Sam lost it at that point, and was left gasping for breath between bouts of laughter.

"All right wiseass, what have you found in Evelyn's file so far?"

Sam wiped at his eyes and cleared his throat. "Not much so far. She talks a lot about this doll, but doesn't really say anything useful about it. Says she has dreams, but doctor's notes say she refused to talk about the dreams."

"You must have the earlier notes, says here she dreamt the doll was trying to come back, to take what was left of her soul," Dean finished. "You have the beginning of the file. What else does it say? She say anything about where she first encountered this doll?"

"Nope, she just slowly brings it into the picture like she's known about the thing forever," Sam frowned. "Maybe we're concentrating on the wrong thing here. Maybe we're focusing too much on the doll."

"Well that's all we really have to go on right now. Plus I thought you were all about the doll."

"Not necessarily, and I don't know," Sam argued. "It says here, on the guest list, that they had a nanny the kids were allowed to visit with, behind Dad's back of course." He sighed, and rubbed at his eyes before letting out a hefty yawn. "Looks like we have more work to do."

"All right, give me the name of this nanny. You go and try talking to Mandy again, and maybe she'll remember something else."

* * *

See you guys again soon.

Kris


	3. Traición

Thank you so much to everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited, suscribed, and encouraged. I'm now caught up as far as this story is, so updates will be a bit slower.

Thank you so very much to Jules...she is the greatest cohort and sweetest critic I could ever hope for. She has this amazing talent for filling in my holes and rearranging the words to say what I had actually wanted them to say but couldn't make them work...-inhales- She also did a fast turn around for this update today, so Jules, you get _two_ gold stars! Also, because I can't stop fiddling (dagnabit) any mistakes left over are my own.

Slight warning for tiny language and an itsy-bitsy bit of gore.

* * *

Sam sat patiently in the bright gray room, the fingers on one hand tapping the edge of the table and the other drumming a rhythmic beat with a pen.

A large door opened behind him, bringing a splash of color to the otherwise dull room. Mandy was escorted in by two guards, cuffed at the wrists and ankles, her bright orange jumpsuit swishing as she walked.

"As always, a pleasure guys," she said, nodding to the guards after she was seated across from Sam. Her wrists were left handcuff free this time, but her situation wasn't improving much beyond that.

"Behave," one of them replied with a grunt, and then turned to Sam. "She's been getting restless. Holler if you need help."

Sam turned with a disappointed frown, slightly taken back with her change in attitude. "Fighting isn't going to help-"

"Cut the bullshit, Sam. I know you're not my lawyer's aid."

Sam stuttered for a moment, but before he could recover she waved him off.

"I talked to my lawyer. He can't even afford the extra help. He warned me not to talk to you and to let him know the next time you came around, he thinks you're some sort of nut job with a taste for drama."

"Look, Mandy, I can explain-"

"What I want to know is," she interrupted again, "are you just some psycho who gets off on this? Do you enjoy visiting prisoners, pretending you can help, and then offering no help whatsoever? Cuz I gotta tell you man, there's a lot better ways to get your jollies out there."

Sam sighed, and stopped for a moment, re-collecting his thoughts. "You're right, I'm not your lawyer's aid," he approached carefully.

"Then who are you?" Mandy leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest and frowing with a defensive scowl.

"I'm a type of private investigator. My brother and I, we travel around, uh, hunting."

"Hunting? Like deer?"

Sam shook his head as his lips curled in a small smile. "No, not exactly."

"I don't get it." Another sigh came from the imprisoned girl, this time tinged with exasperation.

"Look, you said you saw a little girl in the house, right?"

Mandy nodded, wringing her hands in front of her.

"My brother and I think that's the spirit of Ann Marie Emerson, a little girl who killed herself in that house in the sixties."

"A spirit? As in, like, a ghost?" Then, she did something that surprised them both. She nodded. "I figured."

"You did?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, I've always had a very open mind about that type of stuff." She remembered ribbing Jesse, calling him out on his belief that the house had been haunted. Maybe, if she had managed to convince him she had been scared out of her ever-loving mind, and that she had actually believed in that stuff, they would have just left that place alone. Maybe… Shaking her head, she banished her self-destructive thoughts. "And seeing that little girl proved it. How did she kill herself? Was it a violent death involving her head?"

"Uh, jumped from the third floor. Split her head open, why?"

"Because I watched her head fall apart. It was really gross."

"Now I have a question for you."

"Shoot."

"Why did you agree to meet with me again if you knew I wasn't an aid?"

"Well, my lawyer is a crotchety old grouch. He doesn't listen to a thing I say, and is trying really hard to get me the easiest sentence. He's not even going to attempt to free me, just trying to lessen the blow, thinks I'm guilty. You? I didn't know who you were, but you really seem like you want to help."

"And we're going to do what we can."

"So if you find out who the ghost is, then what?"

"Well, we'll put her to rest and the haunting should be over."

"Will that help me out any?"

Sam frowned, and then shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mandy, but I don't know how this would help your case. The best we can figure is one of the ghosts possessed you, and used you to kill your boyfriend."

Mandy's eyes filled with tears and her fists clenched, bleaching her knuckles. "So you're saying, just because some freakin' ghost has issues, I have to rot here? Or worse?"

"I'm sorry. We'll do everything we can, but I want to prepare you now. You still need to have hope, just don't depend on it too much."

She nodded, and wiped her eyes. "Well at least you're being honest with me. So, Sam, what are you doing here?"

"Well, I need to know how much you remember, exactly." He slowly removed a tape recorder from his jacket pocket, and laid it on the center of the table between them. "Start from the beginning."

"Can we skip over some parts that I've already told you?"

Sam nodded in understanding. "Sure."

"Okay, so we opened the door and the first thing we saw was that stupid chandelier…"

.:.SN.:.

_"I don't think it was a little girl. I've been having dreams of that night ever since, and every time I remember just a little bit more. I remember feeling insanely scared after watching that little girl's scalp fall apart. I ran for outside, hit the bottom step, and blacked out. The rest you know about of course. The only thing that's different is I sense strong feelings of anger, hate, jealousy, and guilt between the blackout and coming to. Like a bad case of PMS. The little girl, she seemed sad when we ran into her. I think it was a very adult, female ghost who possessed me, if you know what I mean."_

"No, why do you say that?"

"I also felt horny as hell."

Dean smiled as he tried to picture Sam's face when the girl had revealed that gem, and fast-forwarded a bit through the tape.

_"I know this is tough Mandy, but do you remember anything else about the murder?"_ Dean heard a slight pause, a hiccup, and a sniffle. _"I…she…well, we were screaming."_ "You can't get away with this, _and, um,_ you won't kill me again."

"Oh God."

"Do you remember what?"

"Something about,

Deciding he didn't hear anything he hadn't already heard in the past five replays, Dean clicked the tape recorder off and dropped it onto the table. So they had another player in the mix, a ghost that wasn't the dad and wasn't the little girl. Things were starting to feel a little crowded, and the hunter wondered how much digging they were going to have to actually do.

"Find anything on the nanny?" Sam asked as he came out of the bathroom. A towel was draped around his shoulders, and a toothbrush protruded from his mouth.

"No. She was an illegal immigrant, and was paid under the table. No one had a real address for her, just the first name of Moña."

"Which we already knew," Sam sighed, feeling the drain of yet another long drawn-out case. He pulled the brush from his mouth and twirled it between his fingers in a distracted gesture. "So there's no way to track her down. Do you think Rose would know any more?"

"She might. We never did ask her about the nanny, and she might not have thought to tell us."

"Well, Rose certainly took a liking to you. You call her."

"Ah, you're just jealous," Dean teased as he flipped open his phone.

.:.SN.:.

_"Ah yes, I know all about Moña,"_ Rose answered, her voice sounding superior even over the phone. Dean could picture her surrounded by her lace doilies and her delicate tea sets, sitting ramrod straight on an over-stuffed flower-covered couch.

"Did you know her personally?" Dean asked, smiling as she huffed.

_"Lord child, everyone knew everyone personally back then. It's a wonder anyone even knows how to talk any more with all the gadgetry they have now."_

"What can you tell me about her relationship with the family? Especially the parents?"

_"Screw her 'relations', that girl created straight up drama for that poor family. She was great taking care of them kids, was even my babysitter here and there, but she caused horrible problems between the mister and the missus. Some say she was the beginnin' of the end."_

Dean cocked an eyebrow, earning a curious glance from Sam. "What do you mean by that?"

_"It's a good thing you're cute, 'cause you sure need a lot spelled out for you."_

Dean rolled his eyes and dropped his head as he continued to listen.

_"It was purely rumored, and as you know the rumors fly in such a small town, but it was rumored that the mister and the señorita were having a little love affair and the missus found out. That's about the same time the missus ends up going insane, and the mister has her committed. A little while after both the poor wife and daughter are dead, the nanny is found dead herself. They called it a 'suspicious suicide', but everyone knows that poor girl was murdered."_

"And the cops never went any farther than their suicide ruling?"

_"Naw, 'course not. The family was well off, one of the 'royals' of this town. I'm sure Mr. Emerson paid off the right people, had who he needed in his greedy little pocket. I don't care how flexible you are, you can't shoot yourself between the shoulder blades, then tie up the gun in a plastic baggie and throw it in a river five miles away."_

.:.SN.:.

"So the question is, is it the nanny hell bent on revenge for her murder or the mother pissed over being committed?" Sam pondered, going over the notes for the various sessions held with Mrs. Emerson. "What Mandy said could be true for either of them."

"So we just find where both of them are buried, then we salt and burn them. Problems over, case solved."

"Hopefully it'll be that easy."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, absently twirling the silver band on his finger as he half-heartedly watched a muted news report on TV. Something about a squirrel being caught in someone's stove pipe.

"I don't know. I just…I've been reading over the notes from Mrs. Emerson's therapy sessions. She keeps talking about this doll…what if we're focusing on the drama of the family too much when we should be looking for this doll?"

"Why would we look for a doll?" Dean argued, perplexed. Who cared about the ramblings of a crazy woman and her doll?

"Why wouldn't we? It could be some sort of soul sucking medium – it would explain the mom's delirium."

"Or it could just be the ramblings of a depressed and psychotically broken woman," Dean tried. Sam's eyes narrowed and his mouth twitched into a frown.

"You're gonna make us figure this out, aren't you?" Dean groaned.

"We have to. If there really is a doll out there, we need to find it and destroy it."

"I was afraid you'd say that."

.:.SN.:.

"We're going to figure this out," Rachel said softly, her long fingers curling around Jace's bicep as she walked beside him.

"I just can't wrap my mind around it." The couple walked in silence for a bit, stumbling as they picked their way through the mist. "She didn't do it. Mandy doesn't have a mean bone in her body."

Rachel caught herself as she stumbled again, cursing the hidden roots on the forest floor. "Of course not," she bit back. She actually couldn't have cared less. That was all Jace could ever talk about, his darling loveable do-no-wrong sister. She herself had been in love with the boy since she could remember, but all he had cared about was taking care of his needy snot-nosed little sister.

In some horrible way, maybe one day insuring her ticket to hell for having this thought, but she was relieved the girl was in prison. It was a terrible tragedy that her boyfriend was dead, but now that Mandy was out of the way, Rachel could concentrate on comforting a grieving brother. A very hot, grieving brother.

"Are you sure we should have come out here when it was this dark?" she complained, hugging Jace even tighter.

"Well, we could have come out with daylight to spare if someone hadn't taken three hours to get ready," he lightly scolded. They continued through the forest, Jace setting a determined stride and dragging a pouting Rachel behind. She stumbled again, cursing the thick mist that wrapped around their feet. How cliché was that? No moon…creepy mist…haunted house…Rachel had seen this movie one too many times. What was next? She wouldn't have been surprised if a figure in a white sheet came at them next.

A tense silence settled over the feuding couple as they picked their way along the steep forest path. Every reason for being mad disappeared the moment the house came into view, and Rachel practically jumped onto Jace in sudden fear.

Yellow police tape fluttered sharply in the biting wind, reminding them of what had happened with a sobering stab of grief. They slowed as they reached the center of the clearing, and Rachel watched quietly as her companion spun in a slow circle.

Letting his eyes slowly close, Jace let his imagination run free. He could almost hear the screams of his sister, could feel her fear and her panic. It echoed off of the trees like a bad sense of déjà vu, amplified by the murky darkness. Rachel nudged him, and he snapped his eyes open to find her offering up her flashlight.

"We should get in there and get out, before we're missed back at home."

Jace nodded, wrapped a heavy hand around the cylinder handle of the small Maglite, and pushed forward. He had promised his parents he wouldn't seek answers on his own, but he wasn't ready to let them know he'd reneged on their deal just yet.

They ducked and crawled, bypassing the tape criss-crossing the door. Once inside, they didn't have to look far for the scene of the crime. Blood stained the thick carpet, and the acidic smell of copper mixing with the moldy dust had them both coughing and gagging.

"Oh…my…God…" Rachel breathed. Her hand flew to the base of her neck; her shaking fingers fiddling with the small silver cross her parents had given her. _The Power of Christ compels you._

Jace was more convinced than ever that Mandy could never have done this. Blood was _everywhere_. A large crusted pool sat in the center of the foyer; small dots confected the walls and even the large crystal chandelier held evidence of the brutal murder that had taken place.

As jealous as Rachel was of the young girl, even she had a hard time believing Mandy was _that_ violent.

"It's all the way up there," she commented, raising her own flashlight to follow the gruesome trail. Silence answered, immediately causing her to spin around. "Jace?" There was no sign of him anywhere. "Jace?" she repeated, a bit more panicked.

"It's all my fault, I did this," a deep voice echoed around her, coming from nowhere and everywhere all at once.

"This isn't funny Jace!" she practically screamed, pride be damned. "How dare you goof off at a time like this!" She didn't care if he was just playing a joke, she whimpered as she felt an ice-cold finger trail its way up her spine.

"They're gone, and I can never bring them back." The voice came from behind her, the statement spoken so closely she could feel the disturbance of hot air on the back of her neck. She spun, preparing to bring down her attacker with her flashlight.

"Damnit Jace! This is no time for games!" He towered over her, looking intimidating in the darkness of the house, and Rachel swallowed nervously. "Jace?"

His face crumpled, and he cocked his head to the side. "Do you hear that?" he asked softly.

"What? Jace! Come on, let's just go, please?" she begged, backing for the doorway. "This stopped being funny five minutes ago."

His face fell even further, and he slowly followed her. "Even now they look for it; they cry for it, my children. It is my fault, and I can never save them."

"God, you're such a jerk!" She was steaming now; no man was worth this bullshit.

"I can never leave." Jace's voice hissed, dropped three octaves, no longer sounding human.

"Y-you're not Ja-ace," Rachel stammered out. She brought her flashlight up, aiming it directly in his face. "You're not Jace!" she repeated. Where his bright green irises used to be, vacant white orbs stared back at her, through her. His mournful expression curled upwards slowly, hardening into a murderous sneer.

"You have done some very bad things," he said, his voice returning to a more normal tone while still sounding cold and unfamiliar. Rachel stumbled backward, tripping over the curled carpet and sending her panicked form plunging to the ground. From her position on the floor, she stared up at him, begging and pleading – her panicked words tumbling over themselves in her haste to get them out. She didn't care if she was crying, begging for her life like a baby. She didn't care if she was tearing up her newest manicure as she tried to claw her numb body towards the door, couldn't feel the thick grimy blood as it seeped into her jeans.

"You did this! You! I told you to leave once, and you wouldn't. Now I'm going to make you!" he screamed, producing a long carving knife suddenly from somewhere behind him.

Time froze, she froze, momentarily hypnotized by the flash of the steel blade. He pounced on top of her, screaming obscenities as he plunged the knife down again and again. Rachel tried to scream, but blood welled in her throat, poured into her lungs, oh God she was _drowning_. Her body jerked to the side, and his knife hit home in the center of her throat. He ripped it free, grinning in satisfaction as it released a crimson flood. She tried to inhale, but the oxygen was lost through the gash in her throat, producing a flow of frothing pink bubbles.

She choked, coughed once, release a gurgling cry, and then fell silent. Her head slowly rolled slightly to the side, leaving her sightless eyes to fixate on the chandelier. Standing to admire his handiwork, Jace wiped a slow finger across his cheek, leaving a dirty trail of blood in its wake. He popped the finger in his mouth, tasting the sweet nectar that held her essence, her life.

With one last salute, Jace slowly sagged to the ground. He sat for a moment, and then gradually, groggily, his head came up and he stared blearily around him at the ruined house. "Rachel?"

His blurry eyes focused on the girl who, just a moment ago, had been standing right in front of him. His gaze fell to the knife gripped limply in his hands, the handle slick with blood. _Her blood._

A raw and animalistic scream ripped through the forest, going unheard and unanswered.

Thanks for coming to play with me. See you all next time.


	4. Trastornadas

Thanks for everyone who's read, suscribed, and favorited. The hits mean a lot, so even if you're not reviewing I'm glad ya'll are enjoying!

This should be the last of the explanatory...everything kind of comes to a head in the next chapter.

Thanks again to the most awesomest of all Jules for the sweet beta job. She's perfection in a dictionary haha.

Enjoy!

* * *

The bed squeaked beneath him as his whole body spasmed, the damaged rusted springs were clearly straining to hold the weight of the boy's muscular physique. His arms were secured across his chest, and his bare feet hung off the end of the stained mattress.

A single tear worked its way down his damp face, mixing with the horror-induced sweat that seeped from his pores. Large pupils that consumed his cloudy moss-green irises stared blankly at a water-damaged ceiling, and his lips were moving soundlessly. Periodically his head would jerk to the side, and a scream would build in his throat. The drugs coursing through his system would then react, stifling the scream until it was wrenched from his bloodless lips as a mere whimper.

"How long has he been like this?"

The psychologist spared his companion a sidelong glance, before clearing his throat and pulling at his tie. "Since we brought him in. The night of the incident he was taken to the ER, borderline out of control."

The doctor waited patiently while the man made a few strokes in his notebook before continuing. "He was screaming about being possessed, and even attacked a nurse when he tried to remove him from the victim's side."

Dean cringed at the hard, clinical tone in the doctor's voice. "When was the victim pronounced?"

"En route she flat-lined, and she was declared dead soon after arrival. He actually stabbed her right through the neck, so I'm amazed she made it that far."

"You said he was screaming about being possessed?"

The doctor once again cleared his throat, this time pushing the thick black glasses back up the bridge of his nose. His thinning black hair was worn long, peppered with strands of gray and silver. One side was parted over, giving the appearance of a really bad comb-over. He stood a good foot shorter than Dean, and was practically on the tips of his toes as he peered through the barred glass at his patient.

Unfortunately the bird's eye view Dean was currently enjoying also gave him a good vantage point to observe the clumps of dandruff clinging to the greasy roots, the smaller flakes scattered down the oily tresses, and the small piles interwoven in the threads of the guy's lab coat, which was two sizes too big. Gagging slightly, the hunter forced himself to concentrate on what the high-pitched voice was saying.

"…no control over his actions, doesn't even remember carving his girl up. Real shame, she was a nice one too."

"Did he reveal anything else about being possessed?" Sam had come up from the side, trailed by a second doctor who had taken him to the morgue to check out the victim's body. The second doctor simply smiled at Sam and continued down the hallway, his job as escort complete. Dr. McNasty turned and grinned at Sam, revealing nicotine-stained teeth and a sickening case of halitosis. Dean made gagging gestures behind the doc's back and Sam found himself nodding, his lips pressed together to stifle the grin that threatened to break out over his brother's antics.

The doctor took the nod as an encouragement and relished the attention he seemed to be getting. "Yes, he said something about feeling like he couldn't let 'her' go, couldn't let 'her' leave. Of course, these were the ramblings of a half-crazed, heavily-drugged man, nothing you officers should take into account."

"Of course, we just have to rule out foul play," Dean said carefully, not wanting the doctor to latch onto their fascination with Jace's possession. "We need to make sure there wasn't a third party."

The doctor nodded. "Those two were definitely alone in that house. Unfortunately, you guys are looking at the worst case of Post-Traumatic Stress I've ever seen, so I don't think you're going to get a statement out of this guy. If this level of catatonia continues, we may get to try out the new electroconvulsive therapy kit we got for Christmas!" His laughter was too loud for the quiet hallway, the short bursts of snorting broken by the high-pitched giggling. His ill-timed mirth was unshared by the disgusted Winchesters.

"Well, we thank you for your time," Dean interrupted, unable to stand the man's presence any longer, "and if we have any further questions we'll be in touch."

.:.SN.:.

"The dad?" Dean asked as soon as they were clear of the hospital. They had been informed on the way out that Jace would soon be moved to a more secure facility, one that could handle his…situation. "I was wondering when he was going to make an appearance."

"Yeah, has to be him. Man, you should have seen the body." Sam's tone was somber; too many victims seen in his young life had jaded him too much to be in awe.

"That's okay; I got a good enough description from Dr. Gross to paint my own picture."

Sam dropped his head, scrubbed his palms against his face and groaned. "Our list of graves to dig is getting longer."

"Ah Sammy boy, I think you could use the exercise."

"Screw you Pudgy," Sam threw back. "I'm not the one getting a gut."

"It's not a gut; it doesn't even resemble a gut. This," Dean stated, patting the flat planes of his stomach, "is not a gut."

"Whatever," Sam scoffed. "That's an impressive jiggle you got going there. It's almost like watching an old Jell-O Jiggler commercial."

"I don't 'jiggle'." Dean looked incredulous, which morphed into insulted, and slid rapidly toward unsure.

Sam laughed as Dean patted his stomach again, and then began to poke and pinch at it, studying the results.

.:.SN.:.

Half an hour later, Dean was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest and one leg curled back, boot planted firmly against the clean whitewashed plaster. Business suits filed past him, some holding cell phones, others talking into the blinking headsets planted in their ears. Their polished leather shoes and thick-soled alligator boots clicked as the heels met the buffed tile floor of the county courthouse.

They looked like lemmings, Dean thought, and almost laughed out loud. Mindless lemmings with bags full of laptops and legal pads, habitually following each other around a gray world, he mused silently. These people had no idea what really happened when they shut the lights off at night. Half the stuff he faced weekly would probably scare them all to death.

He could easily picture Sam making his way with this crowd, arguing into a cell phone, a pissy look on his face. Thank God his awesome older brother had saved him from this black and white nightmare of a life. A small twinge of guilt bit through Dean's chest. Not only had he saved his little brother, but he had probably condemned him as well, he thought sadly.

A familiar shadow rounded the corner near the door of the public records office, just to his right. "Find 'em?"

Sam frowned, holding up a sheet of paper. "They were all cremated. The mom was buried separate from the family plot, but still cremated." Sam shrugged and began to walk towards the door.

"I really hate this part of the job. So what do you suggest?" Dean pushed off of the wall and lengthened his stride to catch up with Sam.

"We have to find out what's keeping them here. There's got to be some sort of remains."

"How are we supposed to find that out? God knows if some sicko kept all of their teeth, or some family member kept hair in a scrapbook."

"That would suck," Sam replied, letting out a small chuckle. "There is one possibility I've been thinking about."

"That can't be good." Dean fiddled with the keys to the Impala, missing Sam's glare.

"I was thinking of the doll."

"You mean, the doll that the mom was going on about?" Dean asked, snapping his head up to stare disbelievingly at his sibling. "You think someone may have kept remains from all of the family members and made a doll out of it?" Dean's face scrunched in disgust. "Hair of mom, teeth of kid, that kind of deal?"

"It could be that, like what we faced in New York. However, Mom was ranting and raving about her soul, and soul stealing isn't a stretch," Sam argued, once again bringing it up. Dean dropped into the driver's seat, forcing Sam to follow suit into the passenger side. "If you have someone with a motive and the know-how, it doesn't take a lot to fashion a medium to steal souls. A doll would be perfect."

"Who would have a motive though?" Dean wondered, finally deciding to head down this road. "And all of the souls?"

"Well, I would go with the nanny."

.:.SN.:.

The quiet, repetitive sound of water hitting porcelain soon had Dean sinking deeper into the lumpy mattress of his bed, the remote to the television held loosely in his hand. They had decided to call it quits for the night, and pick up the search for the nanny in the morning. In the meantime, the local police force was surrounding the old Emerson house, so they knew no one was going to get killed in the near future.

Sam exited the small bathroom in a cloud of steam, water still dripping from his hair. "You falling asleep on me?"

Dean nodded lazily, not bothering to move any other body part.

"We're going to be busy tomorrow so you might want to crash now-" Sam jerked slightly in surprise as a short burst of pounding rattled the cheap motel room door.

"What the hell?" Dean demanded quietly as he rose and moved towards the door, grabbing his .45 as he passed by the table it rested on.

He peered back at Sam as he tucked the weapon in the waistband of his jeans, and after receiving a nod confirming backup, he cautiously opened the door. A young man stood a few feet away from the door, his face blackened by the surrounding shadows, his hunched shoulders bowing his posture.

"Sorry man, we didn't order any food," Dean said slowly, not liking the vibes that were radiating from their visitor. He placed his boot at the bottom of the door to prop it open, and kept his right hand propped against the doorjamb. The other hand he held behind the door, hiding it from view.

"Sam and Dean Winchester?" a deep voice resonated from the shadow, the head dropping even lower. Dean could swear the figure was vibrating, almost shaking.

"Can I help you?" he returned, losing all patience and not liking the fact that this man knew who they were. His left hand slid down the back of the door and rounded smoothly behind his back, bringing his palm into contact with the cold metal of the Ruger in his waistband.

"I just need to know something, and then I'll be on my way. What the hell do you want with my family?"

Reclining back into his position on the bed, Dean was a visible wall between their visitor and Sam. An even clearer warning was the pistol resting in his lap. Sam sat near the bathroom in one of the rickety motel chairs, one that groaned with each movement and tilted slightly to one side. Their late night visitor sat in the other chair, near the door. Dean recognized it as a defensive posture on the young man's part, one of easy escape.

"So who are you?" Sam asked, breaking the short but tense standoff.

"My name is Chad. Evelyn Emerson was my grandmother."

Sam's eyes widened slightly. The family resemblance was recognizable now; Chad's wide jawbone and deep-set dark eyes were mirrored in every boy's face in the small Emerson family photo they had found.

"Paul Emerson was my dad; he was the second youngest boy."

"How much family history do you know, Chad?" Dean asked, wondering if they had just found a solution to all of their problems.

"What I do know is pretty messed up, and I'm not even sure it's real. My father was a dentist, a very serious demeanor but with a small town attitude. Some of the things he used to talk about made him sound like a complete nut job, but he was totally serious. That's the thing that scares me the most." Chad sighed, rubbed his eyes and groaned. "You two being here makes it that much worse."

Sam sat forward, releasing another groaning protest from the chair as the cheap wood crackled and leaned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I've heard about what you two do, who you are."

The hunters shared an uneasy look, and then turned back to Chad. Feeling the heat, Chad answered in full.

"Well, last year, when you guys were in Richardson you met an old high school friend of mine, Harry Spangler."

Dean's brow creased into a puzzled frown, but Sam jumped on the name. "The co-creator for ? You're kidding."

"Yeah," Chad nodded. "I know the guy. We went to school together for a short time, and we've sort of kept in touch since then. He's kind of a big geek and he lets Ed run all over him, but all in all he's a good guy. Well, when he told me a pair of real ghost busters showed up and saved his life, I didn't believe him. Then, when Rose called me telling me two guys by the name of Sam and Dean were investigating the house, your names clicked. I called Harry and he confirmed it. Even told me one was impossibly tall and the other had a cocky attitude."

Dean grinned. "Glad we could leave a lasting impression."

Chad smiled back. "So it was too big of a coincidence. Harry also told me you guys saved their lives from an actual 'blood-thirsty ghost'."

"Guess you could say that, yeah." Sam ran his hand lightly across his throat as he remembered being half-strangled by the axe-wielding tulpa.

Chad's smile dropped, and his fingers began picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. "When I put two and two together, I could only guess why you guys were here. I mean, I have a bit of an open mind but the whole ghost thing is still hard to buy."

"So we don't have to pull any wool over your eyes, great," Dean said, glad for that little break. Too many times they'd had to skate around the truth and blindfold witnesses; here they could get what they needed with little effort.

"Just tell me what you're actually doing here and I'll help the best that I can."

"You know about the two murders in your grandparents' house, right?" Sam started slowly.

"Oh God, yeah?" Chad swallowed thickly, his eyes widening as realizations dawned.

"We think your grandparents had something to do with that."

"I know my family had its share of issues," Chad defended almost angrily, his loyalty to the Emerson blood running heavily in his veins, "but they weren't murdering psychopaths."

"Sometimes, when people die, their perception of the truth gets twisted and they turn into something they're not," Sam stated simply.

Chad blinked at Sam. "You're like that chick on Ghost Whisperer, aren't you? You have the whole 'not everyone has a white light' theory."

"I told you!" Dean said, pointing his finger at his younger sibling.

Sam glared at Dean, before turning back to Chad. "We think your family members have been possessing anyone who enters the house, forcing them to kill."

Chad abruptly stood, his hands fisting nervously at his sides as he began pacing the short length of the room. "So what are we supposed to do now? My family is already dead, you can't kill something that's already dead."

Dean scoffed, but gestured for Sam to continue.

"Chad, we're not going to spend a whole bunch of time explaining the mysteries of the universe. We just need to know if your grandmother kept, and possibly passed down, a doll at some point."

Appearing slightly taken aback, the young Emerson took his time answering. "A doll?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yes, a doll. Not in the style of the blonde with the beach house, more like a porcelain, haunts-your-dreams kind of doll. May have even been hand-made."

Chad nodded after a few more moments. "I think my dad told me that his nanny used to make dolls, and sell them on the side. He really didn't tell me about any being kept within the family though."

"Would we be able to talk to him now?" Sam prodded.

Chad shook his head sadly. "My dad passed on about five years ago, heart attack. But I'm not sure he would have known then, he pretty much told me everything he knew. My grandfather was a stubborn bastard, and kept his kids pretty ignorant. If there was a…doll…then my dad probably had no idea of it."

"Where is the nanny now?" Dean asked, suddenly remembering their missing piece.

Chad's pacing stopped, and wearily he returned to his seat by the door. "Not sure. After my grandfather died, she pretty much disappeared. She was an illegal immigrant here, so it's not surprising that she hasn't been heard from since. I know she was an older woman, so I highly doubt she's even still around."

"Well that pretty much screws us over," Dean admitted with a weary sigh. Man this was getting old; for once they needed a break.

"So you guys need to find this doll and that will stop my family? I don't understand."

"Chad, you seem like a smart kid," Dean started, all traces of patience gone. "See if you can stay with me, okay?"

"Dean," Sam chided.

"We think this doll," Dean continued, "may contain the spirits of your grandparents, their daughter Ann Marie, and whoever else the nanny chose to shove in there."

"Right now its all just theories, but we believe if we find this doll and burn it, it will put your whole family to rest," Sam finished.

"And that will stop them from killing?" Chad questioned, doubt and disbelief still heavy in his voice.

"We hope so," Sam grunted quietly. He shared Dean's dislike of the feeling that they were heading into this hunt almost blind, and hoped they figured it all out before someone else ended up getting killed.

"You hope so?" Chad almost demanded, standing again. "I thought you guys were super….Ghostbusters….or something."

"Are you serious?" Dean asked.

"Look," Sam interrupted, trying to act as a buffer between his impatient sibling and their incredulous visitor. "We've been grasping at straws since the very beginning, not that your family has helped very much. We do what we can with what we have, and most of the time we stop what needs to be stopped. Now, tonight, we're going to need your help."

"You got a plan, Sammy?" Dean inquired, quirking an eyebrow.

"There's a slim chance it's going to work."

"Ah, but that's my favorite kind."

* * *

Hope you enjoyed...see you all again soon.

Kris


	5. Ataque de Sorpresa

Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited and subscribed

Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited and subscribed. Hope you enjoy the remaining two chapters and the wrap up.

A huge hank you (with a chocolate covered Dean) to Jules for the awesome beta job she pulled last night. She says she enjoys it, but it truly is appreciated. And because I can't leave my grubby little fingers out of it, any mistakes left over are my own.

.:.SN.:.

_Last Time..._

"And that will stop them from killing?" Chad questioned, doubt and disbelief still heavy in his voice.

"We hope so," Sam grunted quietly. He shared Dean's dislike of the feeling that they were heading into this hunt almost blind, and hoped they figured it all out before someone else ended up getting killed.

"You hope so?" Chad almost demanded, standing again. "I thought you guys were super….Ghostbusters….or something."

"Are you serious?" Dean asked.

"Look," Sam interrupted, trying to act as a buffer between his impatient sibling and their incredulous visitor. "We've been grasping at straws since the very beginning, not that your family has helped very much. We do what we can with what we have, and most of the time we stop what needs to be stopped. Now, tonight, we're going to need your help."

"You got a plan, Sammy?" Dean inquired, quirking an eyebrow.

"There's a slim chance it's going to work."

"Ah, but that's my favorite kind."

SN

_**Chapter 5...Ataque de Sorpresa**_

The hunters sat in the tree line, their faces barely visible even as red and blue lights flashed in a rhythmic dance, lighting up their position. They sat motionless, letting time creep by while they waited for their cue.

From their location, they could clearly see the house, the police cruiser standing guard, and Chad slowly making his way up the stone path from the other side of the woods toward the front of the house. The cops climbed warily from their car, the lights still flashing a silent warning to anyone who planned on visiting the house.

The words of greeting were lost before they could reach the Winchesters, but from what they could see, so far the plan seemed to be working. As the cops approached their late visitor, one jumped ahead and clapped the Emerson on the back.

"That's a good turn of events," Sam whispered. They hadn't counted on the guards of the house being friends of Chad's, and judging by his reaction he hadn't either.

"Well, let's not sit around and contemplate our good luck," Dean whispered back, already moving.

Rushing low across the open field, they kept the house between themselves and the police. They lost sight of the guards and Chad, but it guaranteed they wouldn't be seen. They rushed up towards the rear of the house, ascending quickly with two long strides onto the back porch. Dean entered first, raising his shotgun and quickly sweeping the area as he headed for the far corner of the room. Sam was fast behind him, taking up the adjacent corner as they cleared the empty kitchen.

Dean nodded and Sam moved forward, his footsteps crunching as he tried to avoid the loose gravel and broken china littering the cracked tile floor. His sawed-off never wavered as he moved into the dining room, edging to the side to avoid the fallen table. Dean slid into the room behind him, his gaze resting momentarily on the table. Two of its legs had been broken off, leaving the great mahogany top to rest at a slanted angle. A shattered glass vase laid at the foot of the downed table, its shards curving almost delicately around the black, shriveled stems of two long-dead flowers.

The boys continued their silent trek through the large dining room, following the curve of the wall as it took a left turn towards the front entryway. A long, flowing staircase climbed the wall at the far end of the foyer, while a tall and rotting entrance at the bottom of the steps opened up to another large abandoned room.

A muffled voice carried from outside, broken by barking laughter and inaudible shouts. Chad was clearly doing his job, leaving the hunters to concentrate on the problem at hand.

As they tensed in the doorway between the entrance hall and the dining room, Sam stole a glance upward. His eyes immediately caught the impressive chandelier, becoming momentarily distracted as each of the crystals caught the flashing red and blue lights, throwing them about the room in a sickening light show. He frowned slightly when he noticed a small, white bundle in one corner of the chandelier. _What the…_

Dean's nose crinkled as he caught scent of the heavy metallic rust coating the room. Turning, he noticed his spaced out sibling. Without dropping the sights of the shotgun, he jabbed an elbow into Sam's side. "Stay with me, Sammy."

Sam grunted as Dean's sharp elbow made contact. "You don't see that?"

"See what?" Dean snapped. Following his brother's gaze, he gave a snort. "Yeah – ooh, pretty. So what?"

Sam shot a glare Dean's way, and then glanced back at the ceiling. He blinked in confusion. The small bundle was gone. "There was something up there."

Quirking an eyebrow, Dean sighed. "Yeah, okay."

Frowning at the deceptive chandelier, Sam was about to reply when a small, ear-piercing scream caused both brothers to drop into a crouch. From their defensive huddle in the doorway, they watched in horror as a small white object barreled down on them with alarming speed.

"Sam!" The warning was barely past Dean's lips before the small body launched itself at Sam, its momentum knocking him over and sending his shotgun flying.

"Son of a-!" Sam bit out as he fell, frantically trying to stave off the white bundle fighting to get past his raised arms. Dropping his own useless shotgun to his side, Dean swiped at the little creature with one hand, desperate to get its squirming little form off his brother.

Sam grunted as he was finally able to wrap his hands around the thing's neck, squeezing until his knuckles turned white. A high pitched squeal, just a bit higher than nails on a chalkboard, emanated from it, almost causing Sam to drop it in favor of covering his ears. Clenching his teeth, he continued to squeeze until the thing stopped moving, its little body hanging limply between his long fingers.

"What _is_ that?" Dean growled.

Lifting the small cloth-covered object, Sam squinted as he tried to study it in the low light. "It's a doll."

"Are you kidding me?!" Dean exclaimed.

The thing's small, chubby body was about six inches in length, with short, stubby arms and legs. The stiff, off-white fabric covering the doll was stretched taunt over a protruding belly, and crude black thread stitched into small x's served as the doll's eyes. Bright red thread, thicker than its eyes, stretched in a jagged line for the mouth.

"Did you see it attack? I thought it was going to tear my face off." Sam clambered to his feet, keeping a tight hold on the doll's neck. He wasn't releasing it any time soon.

Dean gathered Sam's weapon off the floor and stood up as well. "You think this is the doll everyone's been talking about? No one said anything about the damn thing having batteries!" Dean peered more closely at the doll, frowning in disgust. "What's that thing made out of, old socks?"

Sam brought the doll closer to his face, trying to figure out what the fabric was, when suddenly its tiny foot shot out and caught him with a glancing blow across the temple. He yelped in surprise, involuntarily loosening his grip on the doll. The crude cloth toy took immediate advantage of the hunter's lax grip and twisted with inhuman speed, freeing itself from Sam's fingers. It lunged for his face, covering him from forehead to chin in a flurry of twisting limbs and cat-like growls.

Dean wrapped a fist around the creature's body just as Sam began to slump toward the floor, earning a knuckle full of teeth. Hissing in pain and annoyance, Dean grabbed for it again and ripped it away from his brother, flinging it against the wall with as much force as he could muster.

The creature hit the wall with a solid _thunk_, then slid to the floor where it landed in a heap. Slowly it climbed to its feet, its small joints popping as it strained to right itself. Dean raised the shotgun, and seeming to recognize the danger it was in, the creature swiftly reorganized. Baring its sharp, serrated teeth at the hunter, it hissed before turning to sprint back down the hallway. The blur of white fabric was gone from sight before Dean could get a clear shot at it.

The frustrated hunter glanced at his brother in concern. "Sam, you good?"

"Yeah," the younger hunter gasped, his eyes wide as he tried to bring his heart rate back to normal.

"What in the world was it trying to do to you?" Dean asked, his own demeanor slightly shaken by the encounter. He would never be able to get the feeling of the squishy little body out of his mind. "If I didn't know any better, I would have thought it was in love with your face."

"Really, Dean? I think I know now how the kids were being possessed." Sam didn't remember much after the little body latched onto his face, but he could have sworn he felt the beginnings of a possession. A sensation he was unfortunately familiar with, and couldn't chalk it up as anything else. Something had been trying to force its way inside him, and if Dean had waited any longer Sam was pretty sure things would have gotten ugly.

Dean's gaze darted nervously around the empty foyer, as if expecting the little thing to come back at any minute. "We need to find it and kill it."

"How do you suggest we do that?" Sam grunted as Dean pulled him to his feet. He swayed for a moment, shook his head, and slowly regained his equilibrium.

"Well hold on, let me get my 'Evil Freaky Doll Killing Guide for Dummies' out and I'll get back to you." Dean rolled his eyes and pushed his brother back towards the kitchen. "We'll come back with some ammo and set the little sucker on fire."

.:.SN.:.

_She was back in the house, this time she wasn't alone. Jesse stood beside her, tightly clasping her hand in his and telling her everything was going to be okay._

She'd had this dream before, and desperately wanted to wake up. The nightmare was not willing to let her go, so she was dragged deeper into the house. Each time she'd had this nightmare, she could never change the outcome, she could never yell loud enough or dig her heels in hard enough to make Jesse listen.

Tonight was no different.

"No, Jesse, let's just go," she begged, not wanting to see his death again.

"Come on Mandy," he said softly. "It'll be okay. You need to see this."

Well that was different. "See what? Why are you doing this to me?"

"You aren't remembering everything. You need to know what really happened."

"No, I can't, please just let me go," she cried. He gripped her hand harder and yanked her forward, towards the center of the room.

Her memories of that night replayed on from there, and she no longer had control over her own actions. She saw the little girl, the scalp that fell from her decayed head, and heard the scream that erupted from her own throat. She pushed through the gaping doorway and hit the bottom of the stairs at a dead sprint, vaguely hearing a thump in the house behind her. She turned to find the space behind her empty; Jesse hadn't made it out of the house yet.

Hearing a growl to her right, she slowly turned. She saw a flash of white as a small object lunged at her, teeth gnashing, then nothing.

Mandy shot straight up in bed, her heart hammering in her chest so hard she was sure she was going to be sick. Sweat ran in rivulets down her face, pooling in her sunken eyes and swollen lip before overflowing and cascading down her jaw.

Tears soon mixed with the sweat, grief consuming her as she painfully remembered every little detail of that night. Something had attacked her, right before she'd woken up to find her boyfriend dead and her life ruined. Now her brother was in a mental hospital somewhere, suffering through God knew what just because he'd retraced her steps.

Making sure she hadn't disturbed her cellmate, Mandy quietly laid back down. The last time she'd woken up from a nightmare, she'd also woken Natalie, her bunkmate. Hence the swollen lip.

Knowing sleep was a long way off, Mandy shivered as the silence of the cell block pressed down on her, making it that much harder to breathe.

.:.SN.:.

"Sometimes, dolls were created to teach a lesson, mostly for misbehaving children and uncooperative adults," Sam read, his eyes scanning the saved document of notes from his 'what if' research. He sat sideways in the front seat of the Impala, leaving the door hanging open as he balanced his laptop on his knees.

"So people would send these little murdering, soul-sucking dolls just because a kid wouldn't eat their vegetables?" Dean asked from the interior of the trunk. "That sounds a little harsh. You would have been screwed, Sammy-boy."

Sam rolled his eyes and continued, "Well, the dolls weren't supposed to come alive. Normally, if one arrived at your doorstep or was found on your bed, it was like a slap on the wrist. Mostly it was for teens and young adults who weren't on the right side of the law. For most, it actually worked. With some cultures it's still popular to do today, though it's frowned upon by most."

"So what's different about this one, what's with it coming to life?"

They had made the short trek back to the Impala with relative ease, Dean teasing Sam the whole way back about being caught off guard by a Cabbage Patch Kid, while Sam marveled at Dean's feminine slapping technique to get the doll off. It was just barely after midnight, so they were going to just miss the shift change. They still had to move quickly.

Chad had assured them the replacement cops would mostly likely be asleep by the time they got back, a little secret divulged to him and joked about while he was playing distraction. The cops had easily bought his story about needing to check the security of his family's estate for himself, just to make sure no one else would die before he had a chance to tear the place down.

He had been resting against the Impala when the Winchesters had made it back, and after a bit of arguing they had finally convinced the young man to head back home. Even though he hadn't believed them at first, the mention a murdering little sock puppet had him graciously bowing from the fight.

"Does it say how to kill 'em?" Dean asked, packing everything he could into his duffel. Iron, silver, salt, flame, if it killed one of their baddies in the past, it was going in the bag.

"Well, considering none of them have ever come to life, I'm not really seeing a way to kill them," Sam said, closing his laptop and stashing it back under the seat. Dean chucked a full bag at him before shouldering his own kit.

"Fire should be good enough," Dean said, smiling brightly as held up a brand new Bic lighter.

"Let's hope so," Sam muttered, pocketing his own lighter.

SN


	6. Desmentido Crudo

Thanks to Jules for beta'n this bad boy.

Thanks to Jules for beta'n this bad boy. All in all I'm happy with how this turned out. I wanted to add more, but I didn't want to overwhelm it, so let me know if what you guys think. However, I did still go through and change a few things, so any mistakes left over are all my bad.

Enjoy! This is the last chapter and only an epilogue to go. Hopefully it won't take me long to just wrap this thing up!!

Thank you to all of my reviewers, suscribers, and readers!! Hope you guys enjoy.

Kris

--SN--

Last time...

_"So what's different about this one, what's with it coming to life?"_

They had made the short trek back to the Impala with relative ease, Dean teasing Sam the whole way back about being caught off guard by a Cabbage Patch Kid, while Sam marveled at Dean's feminine slapping technique to get the doll off. It was just barely after midnight, so they were going to just miss the shift change. They still had to move quickly.

Chad had assured them the replacement cops would mostly likely be asleep by the time they got back, a little secret divulged to him and joked about while he was playing distraction. The cops had easily bought his story about needing to check the security of his family's estate for himself, just to make sure no one else would die before he had a chance to tear the place down.

He had been resting against the Impala when the Winchesters had made it back, and after a bit of arguing they had finally convinced the young man to head back home. Even though he hadn't believed them at first, the mention a murdering little sock puppet had him graciously bowing from the fight.

"Does it say how to kill 'em?" Dean asked, packing everything he could into his duffel. Iron, silver, salt, flame, if it killed one of their baddies in the past, it was going in the bag.

"Well, considering none of them have ever come to life, I'm not really seeing a way to kill them," Sam said, closing his laptop and stashing it back under the seat. Dean chucked a full bag at him before shouldering his own kit.

"Fire should be good enough," Dean said, smiling brightly as held up a brand new Bic lighter.

"Let's hope so," Sam muttered, pocketing his own lighter.

.:SN:.

Dean glanced at his watch. It was almost one am, and he frowned when he realized the trip back to resupply had cost them about an hour.

The house loomed in front of them, the same red/blue lights strobing over its festering frame. True to their word, both cops were passed out cold in the car, one's head pressed against the window, his partly open mouth releasing a thick line of drool to dribble down the glass.

As tempting as it was to give the uniforms a rude awakening, it was actually in their favor as they were able to sneak past the car and enter through the front of the house.

Immediately both pairs of eyes flicked up to the chandelier, noticing the small body was missing from its hiding spot.

"Well Sammy, it seems we scared your little friend off."

"It's never been that easy in our lives," Sam countered.

"God, that thing could be anywhere," Dean cussed, knowing this could take them a lot longer than two hours.

"Hopefully it'll come and find us." Sam raised an eyebrow, cocking his head in an inquiring gesture.

Immediately catching on, Dean shook his head. "Naw, this one's all you. It chose you first, so you let yourself be bait. Besides," he continued, digging the aerosol can from his arsenal and getting his lighter ready, "I'll be right there to save the day."

Sam opened his mouth to argue, but clamped it shut when he realized it wouldn't be worth the time. He watched helplessly while Dean sank into the shadows, leaving him alone in the center of the hallway. Distancing himself from his brother a bit more, he wandered over to the dining room. Sam could feel Dean's eyes on him, studying his every move. He knew his back was covered, but he couldn't help the little shiver that ran through him as an internal dam broke and he was flooded with adrenaline. His body tensed, he was ready for battle.

Dean smirked as he watched his tall sibling from the shadows. He could tell Sam was uneasy about being bait, but he knew they had a better chance of drawing the doll out this way.

Hearing a slight scratching noise coming from behind him, he momentarily closed his eyes. _Oh God, rats._ His eyes popped back open, and he sneaked a glance over his shoulder.

"Oh crap-" His chance to yell out a warning was cut short as the reason for their trap attacked, latching onto Dean's face like a leech. Immediately Dean felt an overwhelming presence take him over as the doll's crusted stomach smothered his nose and mouth, and suddenly he was no longer in control. Just. Freakin'. Like. That.

"Dean?" Sam shouted, worry shading his words as he skidded to a halt right in front of Dean, just in time to see the little white doll drop to the floor and scurry off.

"You never stop coming."

Taking an instinctive step back, Sam raised his shotgun. He really didn't want to have to use the weapon on his brother yet again, but the blood staining the floor under his feet and the surrounding walls were ample evidence as to how murderous these ghosts were. He only hoped he wouldn't actually have to use the salt rounds.

"Who are you?" he asked, needing to know which ghost he was dealing with.

"Like cockroaches, you all just keep coming. You never die!" Dean's face twisted into a scowl, an inhuman frown contorting his features until he was barely recognizable. His eyes lit up with a dangerous glow, almost turning his hazel eyes completely white.

Sam backed away from his sibling, the gun wavering in his grasp as he fought the urge to run. He spared a glance at the floor around Dean's feet, searching for the small white body of the doll.

"You don't ever learn that she will kill you!" Dean continued to screech, his voice rising to a painful pitch. "Each and every one of you!"

"Mrs. Emerson?" Sam asked, taking a chance.

Surprised by the mention of her own name, the ghost stopped her forward movements. The lines in Dean's face softened, almost turning sad.

"No one has called me that in so long," Dean's voice whispered, and his lower lip trembled as his eyes filled with tears. "Is it really my fault he was adulterous? I was nothing but good to him, and he killed me. Killed my little girl. He tore my family apart."

A white figure suddenly appeared behind Dean, features distorted and unrecognizable.

The ghost in Dean turned, immediately identifying the newest threat. "It's you!" she hissed, and actually arched Dean's back.

The spirit rushed towards a somewhat shell-shocked Sam, and pure instinct sent him face first to the floor. The apparition flew past him, continuing until she disappeared inside the wall.

"You brought her here!" Mrs. Emerson cried, her storming emotions darting across Dean's features in a dizzying kaleidoscope until it settled on rage. Dean's possessed body took a threatening step forward.

"Son of a bitch!" Sam cursed. "You're the bait next time, Dean!" he hollered as he struggled to his feet and took off down the hallway, the murderous ghost hot on his heels. His mind raced along at lightning speed as it tried to gather and sort facts, but nothing was presenting itself as a solution. Hitting the end of the hallway, he bore right and ran straight into the distorted figure that had disappeared a few moments before. It consumed him before he could stop his forward momentum.

"It's you," Evelyn growled, the hatred she'd held onto for so long finally finding a target. The shorter hunter she inhabited forced her to look up at her enemy, but she vowed the bitch would soon be below her, begging for mercy.

Mona turned, eyes narrowing into slits as she faced her nemesis. The hunter inside was seething, fighting for freedom; she could hear his voice clearly. Not wanting to deal with him at the moment, she silenced him.

"Yes, it's me. Nice to see you after all these years." Her lips curled in a sneer, and she coiled the body she had borrowed. Toned muscles tightened at her command, each one rippling in succession until she felt prepared to take on the shorter, solid hunter.

Evelyn immediately saw the boy's body tense, and she readied herself. She knew instinctively that anger would only take her so far in a fight, even though when she had been alive she had never really learned how to fight. Still, she could tap into the hunter's instincts if need be…or at least she hoped she could.

Her former nanny was on top of her before she knew it, the hunter's large fists pummeling her stolen face. Digging into Dean's reserves, she latched onto his instincts and simply let his body react.

She was in a vulnerable position, with her back pressed flat against the floor and her nanny's hands wrapped firmly around her throat. Coming from behind and weaving her right hand through the hunter's arms, she was able to wrap her fingers around the large wrist. Taking her left hand, she quickly grabbed Sam's right elbow, and at the same time brought her right knee up while bucking her hip. Rolling, she ended up on top, Mona staring at her with shock and faint amusement. Evelyn immediately began to slap at the boy's face, and reached down to grab a handful of hair.

"Ouch!" Mona yelped as a chunk of hair was pulled violently from Sam's scalp. Seeing an opening, she brought her knee up full force, right between the older hunter's legs. Evelyn released a lungful of air as she fell, her eyes tearing up at the immense pain emanating from her groin all the way to her stomach.

The nanny took off, the long legs of her stolen body carrying her halfway back down the hall before Evelyn had the chance to stand. She quickly jumped to her feet, groaning at the jarring pain, and gave chase. The boy's 6'1" frame revealed a surprising quickness, and she was able to quickly catch up to her opponent.

Believing she had been victorious, Mona felt a jolt of fear when a large weight hit her from behind, ripping the breath from Sam's lungs as the nanny was taken down. Her face bounced off the floor, a dust cloud of blood chipping free to fly down her throat and up her nose. Gagging at the coppery taste, she tried to buck off the crushing weight that was keeping her face pressed into the blood-soaked rug.

Using Dean's fists, Evelyn began to pummel the back of Sam's head. The nanny grunted as she was hit repeatedly, stars bursting in front of her eyes. Finally, Mona was able to gather the strength needed to at least turn.

Now having a free shot at her enemy's face, Evelyn raised Dean's hand as high as it would go, and brought it back down as fast and as hard as she could in an open-fisted slap that rocked Sam's head to the side. Mona stared in shock for a moment before rage over-rode reason. Forgetting all about tapping into her host's hand-to-hand fighting abilities, she reacted out of pure instinct. Baring her teeth, she reached up and retaliated with a slap of her own across Dean's face.

The two spirits traded a series of stinging slaps, the sounds of flesh hitting flesh echoing off the empty walls and bouncing down the hallway. Evelyn grasped a handful of Sam's hair and raised his head off of the floor, delivering another round of open-fisted hits. Mona raised Sam's arms in defense, and then shot out her own hand to grip Dean's hair and tug vigorously, doing her best to tear the short locks out by the roots.

Evelyn screeched as high as her stolen male voice could go, and tipped off balance. Mona arched Sam's hip at that precise moment and they rolled together, Sam ending up on top.

"You were never good enough," Mona spat, remembering how the petite woman would surround herself with lace and dreams of flowers, going day to day untouched by the evils of the world. She herself had scrounged daily, desperate not to let her poverty-stricken, gang-infested lifestyle swallow her whole. "You weren't good enough for him, and you weren't good enough for your kids! I'm glad you killed yourself!"

Evelyn struck back the only way she knew how, another slap. "Why me? Why my family? Why would you inflict so much pain on my loved ones if you claim you cared about them?"

Mona opened her host's mouth to reply, but cocked her head to the side when her retort was interrupted. _"Mi Dios!"_ she cried when she realized what was happening. The slow, steady cadence of Latin was coming from inside her own head, surrounding her mind and tearing her to pieces.

Her scream mingled with the hunter's as she was expelled from her human host. Before he could finish the exorcism, she flew down the hallway and out of sight.

Sam sat back, gasping as he slowly recovered control of each of his limbs. The gray tinge through which he'd been viewing the world slowly receded, and he was finally able to take a full breath.

"You know this won't save you," Evelyn stated flatly, Dean's face an expressionless mask. "She'll be back, and I'll be forced to kill you both."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam coughed out; his throat raw after the spirit had tore at it on her way out. When the spirit opened Dean's mouth again, Sam grunted as he cuffed Dean across the temple. The elder Winchester's body crumpled to the floor, a feminine groan escaping his lips. Sam grinned, deciding he would definitely use that the next time Dean decided to crack a 'Meg' joke.

Struggling to his shaking knees, he found what he was looking for and leapt on it before it could escape. The nanny's creation, the sick little doll, had been hiding at the bottom of the staircase, seemingly enjoying the view of the fight.

It hissed at Sam as he once again wrapped the fingers of one hand around its throat. It kicked and growled, clawed at his finger and snapped its teeth. He kept a death grip on the small white neck, and used his other hand to dig the lighter out of his pocket. Setting it carefully beside him, he dug out the small bottle of lighter fluid.

Dangling the dangerous creature away from Dean's prone form, he gave it a quick shower in the flammable liquid. And that was where his plan fell short.

He couldn't exactly light the stupid thing on fire while he was holding it, but he couldn't drop it to light it either. Once the doll was out of his hand, he'd never catch it again.

"Screw it," he said, clenching his teeth as he flicked the lighter and brought it up towards the thrashing doll. The doll screamed and curled its legs into its body, trying to get as far away from the flame as possible. Clicking his tongue at its desperation, Sam felt no mercy as he brought the flame into contact with the cloth.

The doll caught alight instantly, its piercing screams high enough to make a dog deaf. Sam screamed and dropped the doll, clapping his hands over his ears before he could stop himself. The doll dropped to the floor at his feet, and immediately scrambled upright, writhing as though in intense agony. It ran past Dean, not even bothering to stop. Sam turned, intent on going after the thing. It ran down the long hallway, leaving a small trail of flames that quickly caught and spread. The farther away it got from Sam, the slower and more sluggish its steps grew.

Finally it succumbed to the fire consuming its cloth body and curled into a ball, mewling pitifully as black and green smoke swirled from the flames and filled hallway. Sam grabbed one of Dean's hands and hauled his sibling up and over his shoulders. Hearing the startled yells of the police outside, Sam figured the screams of the doll had probably woken them from their naps. Stopping only long enough to grab their bag of weapons, Sam hurried through the kitchen and down the back porch.

Sam was halfway across the clearing when the doll gave one last scream and he spun around, gripping his unconscious brother tightly. A fireball erupted from the front porch, and from his vantage point Sam could see the two dark silhouettes of the police officers as they were thrown backwards.

Dean screamed in echo to the doll and arched up off of Sam's shoulders. Sam gasped and stumbled, dropping his cargo into the knee-high weeds.

Thin white smoke curled from Dean's mouth, and he screamed again. Sam tried to shush him, stopping short of placing a hand over his mouth, and glanced nervously in the direction of the police car. The dancing orange flames lit up the front of the house, revealing the two bodies lying unmoving near the police car.

Sam grimaced when he smelled burning flesh, and realized it was coming from Dean. The white smoke had given way to an orange glow, and finally sizzling to a bright yellow as the spirit was driven from his body. Sam could hear his brother choking and coughing, but he couldn't take his eyes off the spirit dying in front of him.

The white figure turned towards him even as flames licked at her form, eating her alive. She screamed and rushed towards the downed brothers, but disappeared in a flash of light before she could reach them.

Hoping the other family members shared the same fate; Sam risked a glance at the house. It was fully consumed, the blaze reached towards the sky as it ate the decayed wood, burning hotter and faster then any natural fire ever could.

"You….okay…Sammy?" Dean wheezed out, his lungs and throat on fire as his smoldering esophagus met with the cold, bitter air on each inhale.

"I'll be a lot better when I can no longer smell your burning ass," Sam joked, mocking a gag.

"Did…we…get…them?" With each word Dean's voice softened until it was a pained whisper.

"Yeah, I think we did. Maybe you shouldn't talk anymore. Can you walk?" Sam really wasn't looking forward to carting his brother's heavy ass any further unless he absolutely had to.

"Bitch…burned…my…throat, not…my…legs…" Dean snapped, climbing to his feet to prove his point. Sam gathered up their bag and hovered close by; keeping an eye on Dean's faltering but determined steps as they slowly made their way back across the clearing.

They both let out a sigh of relief when they reached the tree line, just barely missing the reinforcements that showed up to battle the blaze behind them.

Further inside the dark forest, Sam was the first to reach the car, with Dean not far behind him. "You…drive." On his way to the passenger side, Dean tossed the keys Sam's way. Sam snatched them out of the air with one hand, and then stopped to deposit the weapon's bag in the trunk.

Dean settled onto the cold leather bench seat, closing his eyes and letting his body slide forward until he could rest his head on the back of the seat. One thing his baby fell short of was some damn head rests.

Swallowing carefully, he winced as a stab of burning pain wound from his smoldering sinuses down to his stomach. The next few days were going to suck.

"Sam?" he called as loudly as he dared, regretting it all the same. After he heard the trunk slam everything had fallen silent. Opening his eyes, he sat up in just enough time to witness his brother's body magically drop from the sky to land in front of the Impala. Suddenly not able to move fast enough, Dean struggled to get out of the car, hoarsely calling his brother's name.

Just as he straightened, he came face to face with Mona's ghost. And man did she look pissed.

"You killed my creation." Her acidic breath hit him in the face like a punch, making his stomach churn and his eyes water.

"Yeah…well you're little…toy wasn't…playing nice."

She smiled, showing decayed teeth and a rotting tongue. What was once long, thick black hair hung around her face and shoulders in a tangled clump of maggot-infested knots. Her once beautiful brown eyes had sunken into her exposed skull until they were barely visible, clouded by a milky white. An old green velvet dress hung from her skinny frame, torn and barely concealing the fact that she was missing a few vital organs.

"You killed my family."

"They weren't…yours…" Dean wasn't sure why he was arguing with her, but she had him pinned against the side of the car and by the looks of it Sam wasn't coming to his rescue any time soon.

The spirit lifted her hand, bringing it closer. Dean winced and shuddered as the exposed bones in her fingertips scraped down the side of his face, chafing his stubble and leaving .

"Now you shall die," she said in a quiet voice. Even in death her Hispanic accent was thick, and Dean was having a hard time clearly understanding her.

She wrapped one hand around his throat, and the other lifted back behind her head. About to strike a deadly blow, she suddenly vaporized with a scream. Ears still ringing, it took the hunter a minute to notice Sam, still lying in front of the Impala, but with a salt gun clutched in his hand.

Using the hood for support, Dean made his way to his downed sibling. "You good?"

A bleeding gash on his forehead suggested otherwise, but the boy still nodded. "My head hit the front bumper, but I'm no longer seeing two of you."

Dean's concerned gaze slid to the corner of the front bumper, relieved to only find a small smear of blood. Wiping it off with his thumb and not finding any scratches, he turned back to Sam and offered a helping hand. "Always have to do things the hard way."

"Still saved your ass." Sam wiped at the trail of blood, smearing half of it across his forehead, but when the blood remained crusted Dean was convinced Sam was going to live.

"That you…did." Time was passing without either of them aware apparently; Dean stopped in a moment of surprise to see the sun rising above the tree line.

"We have to find her grave," Sam said, knowing they couldn't leave the area until all of their ghosts were history, but knowing they didn't have to return to the house in the sunlight was a big relief.

"Didn't I read…something about her…being buried…on the property?"

Sam simply blinked at Dean for a moment; unable to comprehend that Dean may have actually read part of his research this time.

"What?" Dean asked, looking away suddenly. "Your notes were the only…bathroom reading I had…at the time."

"Sure," Sam scoffed. "Anyway, her grave should be at the south-east corner of the house, which is just on the other side of that buff over there."

"Great…climbing," Dean wheezed, the pain in his chest almost unbearable. Maybe Sam was right about not trying to talk…

They hadn't even made it to the trunk when the spirit reappeared. This time, she grabbed Dean first and threw him effortlessly through the air. He landed on the flat of his back and slid until he came to rest at the bottom of a tree. His damaged throat constricted even as his lungs fought to pull air back in.

With one hunter down, Mona set her sights on the youngest Winchester. She grinned maliciously as she reached for him.

Finally finding an appropriate amount of oxygen, Dean rolled onto his stomach and tried to get his hands and knees under him. Something cold and hard prodded his shoulder, and he blinked dazedly as he turned his head to see what it was. Propped against the base of the tree was an old rock, but with his now-blurred vision he was having a hard time reading the small letters someone had etched. He squinted, and realization dawned. He was staring at the granite marker of Mona's grave.

"Sam! Distract her!" he called hoarsely, hoping his brother would hear him so he wouldn't have to yell any louder.

"Easier said then done!" Sam shouted back.

Not sparing a moment of distraction to glance at his sibling, Dean began to dig at the woman's grave with his hands. He remembered reading how when Mona had died, Mr. Emerson hadn't spared the money to give her a proper burial, and seeing how she was a 'suicide', the town hadn't cared how he disposed of the body. Rumor was he had buried her himself. Finally their luck was turning and after three feet of digging he found her bones.

Glad that he had stashed the supplies in his pocket, Dean reached in and removed his supply of lighter fluid and a match. He glanced back towards the Impala, and found Sam's shotgun lying not far from where he knelt.

Just then, the owner of the shotgun flew through the air, landing within a few feet of the grave. Glancing at the white bones and Dean's frantic expression, Sam quickly jumped to his feet and ran back towards the spirit. They couldn't let her see what Dean was trying to do.

"You hit like a girl!" Sam hollered.

Smirking, Dean took a few steps towards the car and grabbed the shotgun, removing the last remaining salt cartridge.

He crawled back towards the grave, slid his knife from his boot, and pried the unfired cartridge open. Dumping the salt on the bones, he then emptied the bottle of lighter fluid over them, making sure they were well covered.

Sam groaned as once again he found himself airborne, his body coming to an abrupt halt when it hit the trunk of the Impala. His momentum carried him across the top to slide off the side and land in a heap on the ground. Propping himself up on an elbow, Sam shook his head to clear the growing haze and jabbed a finger in the stinging cut on the side of his lip. "Dean!" he yelled in exasperation, tired of being tossed around. Just as he screamed his brother's name, the ghostly bitch picked him up again and whipped him towards the nearest tree. Tucking his head under his arm at the last minute, he allowed his right shoulder to take the brunt of the impact. It popped on contact, bones mashing as it slid out of place.

Sliding to the ground, Sam peered through double vision as Mona set her sights on Dean.

Screaming, she rushed towards the crouched hunter, her hands outstretched before her in a desperate attempt to reach him before the final element was added.

Flicking his thumb across the wheel of the lighter, Dean grinned as the tiny flame sprang to life and tossed the cheap Bic onto the small pile of bones.

Her hands mere inches from the hunter's neck, Mona screamed as she burst into flame. The scream rose to a deafening pitch before being abruptly cut off as the ghost vanished in a spectacular shower of sparks.

Dean fell back from the open grave, the various cuts and bruises making themselves known as the adrenaline left his veins. His wide-eyed gaze tracked the last dying embers spiraling into the cool morning air before shifting to his brother lying a few feet away.

"You good, Sam?"

Taking a bit longer to answer then he should have, Sam finally let his head drop, willing the world to stop spinning. "I'm good."

.:.SN.:.


	7. Finales Infelices

Thanks to all of my readers, suscribers, and especially my reviewers. A big shout out to XdaisychainX for strokin' my ego.

Any left over mistakes are my own, my beta has done a fantabulous job with this. Not only did she cross my i's and dot my t's for me, she managed to word it the way I needed it to be but couldn't find on my own. See what I mean? Lol...Thank you so much Jules!

Hope you guys enjoy the final piece. Warning, life ain't always a bed of roses.

.:.SN.:.

A small bell above the door rang as hungry patrons filed into the small diner for the lunch rush. Workers in jeans and stained flannels slid past men in rumpled three-piece suits and women holding screaming infants. Two children dressed in overalls and stickiness darted around the booths, almost knocking over a waitress tiredly carrying a full tray.

A chipped green Formica table with peeling bench seats in the corner sat three men, one in leather and two in hooded sweatshirts.

Chad leaned forward, leaving his half-eaten burger to coagulate as he stared at the brothers in shock. "But it's over?"

Dean nodded. "We destroyed Mona's freaky ass little doll, and Mona won't be coming back any time soon either."

"What…I mean, well, I'm sure I don't want to know, but did you guys figure out why?"

Dean simply shrugged and sat back, one arm across the back of the booth and the other stretched across the table. Sam, whose own dislocate shoulder sat in a hasty sling while the other hand distractedly bent a straw, looked up to answer.

"We never really know why spirits end up pissed off and gunning for blood, but usually an unsolved or unjustified murder is the worst. Mona's death was ruled as a suicide, even though everyone knew Mr. Emerson did it." Sam shrugged with one good shoulder. "Since your grandfather is dead himself now, Mona doesn't have anyone to unleash that anger on…so she chose anyone unlucky enough to step inside the house."

"Are you sure he was responsible? For her murder?" Chad argued, his tone bordering defense and deference.

Sam nodded. "Mona couldn't take the cost of being with Mr. Emerson, the guilt was eating her alive. She tried to run, and he shot her."

"See, the problem I'm having is I'm not seeing any proof."

Dean gave a huff in annoyance, but Sam understood the man's need to defend his family to the end. Blood was blood.

"For the short time I was possessed by Mona, I got a brief glimpse at her final moment." Sam remembered it all too clearly, and he knew it was something that would stick with him for a while. Her final moments hadn't been pleasant…the smell of burnt carbon as the weapon was fired, the coppery taste as blood as it filled her mouth and nose, the feel of the rocks and the last smell of pine as she landed on the forest floor, and the sting of betrayal as it broke her heart before it even stopped beating.

Chad's eyes narrowed slightly, but his expression finally relaxed and he gave a small nod. "Well, in any case if it is truly over, you guys did me and this whole town a favor." Glancing over his shoulders suddenly, he leaned low over the table and gestured for the brothers to do the same.

Both Winchesters glanced around in confusion before following his lead.

"My summer internship for the mayor worked out in your favor." Chad glanced around again before continuing. "He knew there was something wrong with the house, and for your services he is prepared to offer you this quiet reward."

Sam's eyes widened and Dean's narrowed. Chad slid a check across the table. Immediately Dean snatched it from the table and quickly scanned the neatly typed print. There were a lot of zeroes.

"Dude, check it out." He passed the check over to his sibling, whose mouth fell open at the first glance.

The older hunter turned back to their guest, noting the pleased smirk. "How?"

Chad shrugged. "Mayor and I were talking about it yesterday, and I may have mentioned that a few unnamed heroes had eliminated the threat. He wanted a quiet thank you, sort of a way of guaranteeing no one thinks he's a nut."

"Ah, reelection time," Sam smiled.

"Bingo. Well guys, as fun as it's been, I hope I never see you again." As the young Emerson rose to leave, he gave one final look at the brothers. "Stay safe guys, I mean that." With one last grin he was gone.

Sam whistled and handed the check back to Dean. They were set for the next month if not a little longer.

As Dean fished his wallet out of his pocket, Sam glanced down remorsefully at the article in the newspaper below him.

'Killer Girlfriend Set For Trial'

"We can't do anything more for her Sam."

"I know," the young hunter agreed with a sigh.

"Well, should we head?" At a nod they exited the booth, the newspaper also containing their next hunt tucked neatly underneath Sam's arm.

.:..:.:.

Soft-soled shoes whispered down the bleached tiled corridor as the nurse soundlessly made her way to room 125. Her jet-black hair was coiled neatly in a bun, and her uniform swished lightly as she walked. Stopping directly in front of her destination, she shook her head slightly and clucked her tongue in pity. She hated visiting this room.

A tall, redheaded orderly approached her from the other side. "Sorry Nancy, we had an issue on the third floor."

"That's fine," she nodded. "I just got here myself."

Turning from the barrel-chested man, she peeked through the barred window and found the patient on his hands and knees; it was how she always found him.

"Jace?" she said softly, not wanting to startle him with any sudden noises.

He continued to mumble softly to himself, wiping at the soft floor of his cell.

"Jace?" she tried again. Nothing. Sighing, she pulled out her key ring. "Alright Terry, I'm going in."

They always teased Terry because he seemed as big as Terry "Hulk" Hogan, appropriately earning him the name 'Hulk'.

Once the door was open, she quickly closed it behind her. Terry simply crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. This was not one of their problem patients, but his presence was still required.

"Jace, what are you doing?" Nancy asked quietly. As she edged closer, she could make out the words he was repeatedly mumbling.

"So much blood…can't get it up…can't get it off…too much blood..." His scrubbing increased until it was almost frantic, desperate.

Softly grabbing his wrists, Nancy pulled until Jace was back on his hunches, his gaze immediately diverted to stare at the far corner of the room.

"I need a mop," he whispered.

"Jace, I need you to focus. Can you do that?"

Dazed green eyes slowly tracked until they rested on the nurse's face.

"Good morning Nancy," Jace said automatically. It was their routine

All at once the nurse was more convinced then ever that this would be a bad idea. The doctor wanted the news to shake Jace from the self-induced catatonic state he'd placed himself in.

Glancing towards the door, she looked for Terry's gentle gaze. Instead she found the cold, steely glare of the floor's psychologist. He gave a slight nod, and returned his attention to the patient.

_"It'll be good for him. Besides, you're the only one who can even get any sort of reaction out of him. He trusts you,"_ the doctor had said when Nancy had protested.

"Good morning Jace," she replied, turning back to the young man with a smile. "Can you tell me what day it is?"

"Sunday."

"Good job." Even though every day was Sunday to Jace, she nodded. Taking a deep breath, she gave a silent prayer. "I have some news for you."

Jace nodded, the drugs coursing through his veins giving his expression a far-off look, the guilt coursing through his heart making his eyes appear dead.

"Is it good or bad?" That was also almost automatic. Nancy liked to come in here with two bits of news every day, one funny and one sad.

"It's about your sister."

Jace nodded, his mouth curling into a frown. Nancy's hopes soared; it was the first bit of emotion he'd shown since she'd met him. "Bad then."

"Yes, bad. Do you want to hear it?"

For the first time, his eyes met hers with an absolute clarity. "I have to know."

Taking another deep breath, Nancy recited what she knew. "She went to court yesterday for the murder of her boyfriend. They," Nancy paused again, only continuing because of Jace's nod. "They found her guilty. Another trial is set for the fifteenth, but they're looking at the death penalty."

Jace's eyes immediately clouded over again, tears welling and falling down his pale cheeks. The nurse reached for him as his body pitched forward, hugging him to her chest as his body began to spasm.

Just as the shoulder of her crisp white uniform began to stick to her from his tears, he pulled back. Firmly grasping his face in her hands, she tilted his head upwards in an effort to make eye contact. The blank expression, dilated pupils, and drying tears told her no one was home any longer.

She glanced towards the door to find the doctor, but the hallway was empty.

.:.SN.:.

Until next time...

Also, the auction hosted by KHannaKorossy was a huge success! Thanks to everyone who bidded, the money is really going to help out a lot!


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